


The Cursed Ring of the Dread Pirate Bob

by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen)



Series: If Wishing Made It So [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: (because it's halloween that's why), Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Genie/Djinn, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ballads, Curses, Ghost Pirate Hawkeye, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Skinny Steve, genie Bucky Barnes, however one of them did keep the cock inn, no widows were harmed in the making of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-19 07:37:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8196244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monkeygreen/pseuds/leveragehunters
Summary: Steve only bought the ring for Bucky because the stone was the exact same colour as Bucky's eyes and, at that price, it was a bargain he couldn't pass up. He probably should have, as he later discovered, because the ring came with some undocumented features: its very own ghost pirate and its very own curse. (Technically, that probably meant the ring had still been a bargain, since he hadn't actually paid for either of those things.) Bargain or not, Steve wasn't looking forward to explaining to an extremely overprotective genie why he was suddenly being haunted by the ghost of the Dread Pirate...Bob?(Just a little ghost fic for Halloween!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! This fic began life when Kiriei and I were talking about The Cursed Ring of the Dread Pirate Bob (an actual item in the new World of Warcraft expansion) and she said 'it just screams cursed ring that Steve would accidentally pick up, Genie!Bucky has no idea how his little Steve ended up with it'. Then this happened. (It was supposed to just be silly but it kinda grew one or two feels along the way, as does seem to happen). I wasn't sure about archive warnings, since Hawkeye's a ghost at the start, so I split the difference and chose not to use them.
> 
> All ballads are genuine with original punctuation and spelling. **Note that this is only a single chapter fic.** I've put the complete ballads in chapter two in case anyone's interested.

Steve wasn’t shopping for a ring. It only caught his eye because the stone was molten gold, the exact same shade as Bucky’s eyes, shimmering in the sun pouring in through the shop window. It was set in what _looked_ like, but couldn’t possibly be, braided strands of antique silver; the price on the tag was way too low for it to be genuine.

Steve stared at it through the window. It was _beautiful_. He bit his lip, weighed it up, and went in.

With incredible enthusiasm Steve would later understand, the owner fell all over himself to show it to Steve. No, it was genuine, he assured him. Definitely not a fake. The last item from a deceased estate and he was eager to get it off the books. Can’t have pieces hanging around forever, he said with a weirdly high-pitched chuckle. Desperation was practically leaking off him. Steve edged away, giving him the side-eye, but he couldn’t resist.

It wasn’t until he was outside the shop, the ring in a box and the box in a bag, that he realised he’d just bought Bucky a _ring_.

A tiny flush of warmth rushed through him, even though he wasn’t sure Bucky would understand the significance. Which was fine. They didn’t need rings, didn’t need anything, to mark what they meant to each other.

Didn’t change the fact that he’d just bought Bucky a ring.

When he got home he set the box on the coffee table and opened it. Sitting in their apartment, the silver gleaming, the golden stone glowing, it was even more beautiful than it'd been in the store, and he smiled, trying to picture how Bucky was going to react. He knew it would be good, if only because Steve was giving it to him, but he couldn't quite picture exactly how it was going to go.

The faint sound of distant singing pulled his attention away from the ring and Bucky's potential reaction. He frowned, looking around for the source. The TV was off, his computer was silent.

The music was getting louder and it was distinctly off-tune. He turned around again and squawked in surprise as he came nose to chin with a... "What the hell," he breathed.   

"Hey there, kid." It…he grimaced. "Sorry about this."

He was a ghost. Pale, washed out, like someone had upped the brightness and overdone the desaturation, and Steve could _see through him_. Based on all that, Steve was comfortable assuming _ghost._ He was _very_ glad he and Bucky had come to an understanding or he was pretty sure he’d have an armful of genie right about now. Bucky would have felt his surprise through their link, but it wouldn’t be enough for him to suddenly show up. Not without something else, without something stronger, following it up. Since the ghost was just standing there, looking vaguely apologetic and partially transparent, Steve couldn't find it in himself to be concerned.

He took two steps back and looked up. The ghost was taller than him, wearing knee-high boots, close-fitting pants, and a loose, lace-up shirt, open at the top. "I'm not a kid."

"Well, kid or not, you’re now the unfortunate owner of the cursed ring of the Dread Pirate Bob."

 _Ghost pirates. Really?_ Steve felt like he should be having more of a reaction—shock, significant surprise, _something_ —but the most he could muster was a flat, "The Dread Pirate Bob."

"That’s right."

"You’re the Dread Pirate Bob."

"The Dread Pirate Hawkeye, actually, and I was never all that dread, mostly we were privateers, but the sea witch who cursed me thought Hawkeye would make me sound too interesting. She really didn't like me. Bob was the most boring name she could think of, so…" He spread his hands wide.

"You don't sound like a pirate." Not that Steve really knew what a pirate should sound like, his vague ideas coming from Hollywood movies.

"I've been cursed for a long time. I've picked up the modern lingo."

"Or some version of it. _Modern lingo_ isn't really modern lingo," he explained to Hawkeye's questioning look.

"You're taking this pretty well," Hawkeye said curiously. "Normally people panic by now, or refuse to believe I'm real, decide I'm a figment of their imagination, too much liquor or some bad cheese."

"You're not even close to the strangest thing I've ever seen." Hawkeye's insubstantial eyebrows went up. "I'm in love with a genie." Normally protecting the truth of Bucky was the most important thing to Steve after Bucky himself but, well, he was talking to a  _ghost._ "We've been through a lot."

There was a very long pause. "You know," Hawkeye finally said, "people don't usually _start out_ mad when they get the ring. That usually takes at least a couple of days, sometimes a whole week. Hell, one guy lasted almost _two_ weeks before he ran down the street. Naked. Screaming at me to shut up, poor bastard. But you, you're actually starting out that way."

Shaking his head, Steve chuckled. "You'll see. He'll be home soon."

"I'm sorry you ended up with the ring. Not like I've got a choice, but you seem nice. I'm already starting to feel bad about it."

"What do you mean?"

"Only the one who owns the ring can see me or hear me. He's going to think you're addled if you try and tell him about me."

"You'll be surprised at what he believes. You'll be surprised at what he can see. Like I said, he's a genie." Steve looked thoughtfully at Hawkeye. "He might even be able to break your curse."

Anger drifted over Hawkeye's pale features. "There's only one way to break the curse and it's got nothing to do with genies."

"What is it?"

Hawkeye opened his mouth, but instead of answering, he began to sing, loud and off-key:

 

_"A traveller for many long years I have been,_

_But I never went over to France -_

_Most cities and all market towns I've been in,_

_From Berwick on Tweed to Penzance,_

_Many hotels and taverns I've been in in my time,_

_And many fair landladys seen -_

_But of all the fair charmers who other outshines_

_Give me the sweet widow -_

_The dear little widow,_

_I mean the sweet widow that keeps the Cock Inn."_

 

Steve stared at him, eyes wide, mouth half-hanging open.

"That's a good one, huh?"

Steve kept staring.

"It was always one of my favourites. Many a night we spent out on the ocean singing the praises of the widow who kept the Cock Inn."

Bucky was suddenly _there_ , cutting off any response Steve might have made. Steve _felt_ the anger spike through him, felt it in the spot under his sternum where the link lived, as Bucky saw the ghost. Steve lunged forward, sliding between Bucky and Hawkeye as Bucky's eyes flared gold, his magic swirling to life and lashing out. "Bucky, no!" Golden magic splashed harmlessly around him as Bucky wreathed him in protections that slid warm across his skin.

"Steve," Bucky breathed, reaching him in two steps and wrapping his single arm around Steve's waist, holding him tight as he glared over Steve's shoulder at the ghost.

Hawkeye stared disbelievingly at Bucky. "How can you see me?"

Bucky ignored him. "What's going on? He's covered in magic and it stinks of evil."

"Maybe, but I don't think _he's_ evil."

"I'm not!"

They both ignored him.

"He's under some sort of curse. Don't hurt him, okay?"

Bucky tipped his head to meet Steve's eyes. "Humans generally get cursed for a reason."

"I didn't."

Steve turned in the circle of Bucky's arm to face Hawkeye.

"All I did was sing one too many times where the sea witch could hear me. I never could carry a tune," he tapped one ear, "always had bad ears. She didn't like my singing, didn't like my songs, so she cursed me to haunt the ring and vex the owner until the day the curse is broken." He paused. "Really, how can you see me, hear me? No one can do that but the one who owns the ring."

"I told you," Steve said. "He's a genie."

Hawkeye's face worked, like he was fighting something, then he burst into terrible singing:

 

_"Her lips are as roses as e'en is her wine,_

_And like all her liquors, she's neat_

_She's full of good spirits, that's really devine_

_And while serving her bitters, looks sweet."_

 

Steve winced. "Do you have to?"

Hawkeye stopped singing long enough to say, "Afraid so. That’s the curse," before resuming:

 

_"Excuse these outpourings, they spring from the heart,_

_You may laugh – so shall I, if I win,_

_One smile of consent, how 'twould lessen the smart,_

_From the active young widow,_

_The spruce little widow,_

_The little widow that keeps the Cock Inn."_

"I have to sing," he explained when he finished. To Steve's dumbfounded look he grinned slyly and added, "You like that one, hey? Don't worry, I'll make sure you get a chance to learn it."

"Thanks," Steve said dryly.

Hawkeye nodded, then tipped his head, indicating Bucky. "I guess you weren’t mad after all."

"I told you," Steve said and Hawkeye touched a finger to his forehead.

"Steve." Bucky grasped Steve's shoulder with his single hand and gently turned him. "Why is there a ghost in our living room?"

"He came with the ring." Steve gestured at the ring sitting on the table. "Bucky, can you break his curse?"

The look Bucky turned on Hawkeye—distant and inhuman—made him pale, which shouldn’t technically have been possible for a ghost. "Curses are complicated," he finally said, gaze flicking to the ring. "But I can destroy the ring."

Hawkeye's laugh was touched with bitterness. "You think no one's tried that? The ring's been beaten with blacksmith's hammers, dropped into molten steel, tossed into forges, run over with trucks. Nothing touches it."

The golden fire of Bucky's magic rolled over his skin, flowed down his body, crept across the floor and up the table to surround the ring. The ring's stone flared an answering gold. " _I_ can destroy it."

"If you destroy it what happens to him?" Steve asked.

"It might take him with it. I can't be sure. I don't know enough about the curse."

Steve turned to Hawkeye. "Are you _you_?" At Hawkeye's blank look, he went on, "Are you a copy of who you were or are you actually you?" He winced, because that didn't make a lot of sense, but Hawkeye seemed to follow.

"I’m me. The sea witch killed me and she cursed me and she trapped me in this ring so my soul would never see the afterlife."

Steve looked at him for a long moment, then turned back to Bucky whose magic was still simmering gold. "You can’t destroy it."

"Steve." He was standing inhumanly still. "He's cursed to haunt you, to _harm_ you."

"Bucky." Steve's look was implacable, chin up, eyes stubborn.

Slowly, his magic faded and, resigned, Bucky dropped his forehead to rest against Steve’s hair. "Why did you buy a ring?"

Expression turning sheepish, Steve said, "It was supposed to be for you."

Bucky let go of Steve and walked over to look down at it. "The stone?"

"It's what caught my eye."

He held out his hand. Steve took it and moved closer to lean into his side. "It's beautiful."

"Except for the bit where it's haunted," Steve said ruefully.

"Hey, I'm pretty damned good looking." Hawkeye puffed out his chest and stuck out his chin. "You could think of me as a bonus."

"I'm beginning to understand why the sea witch cursed you," Bucky told him and Steve started laughing.

 

* * *

 

_"There's Bet at the Blossom and Poll of the Crown,_

_Fat Dolly who owns the red heart,_

_There's Kate of the Garter and Star, of renown_

_And Peggy who keeps the Skylark,_

_Spruce Fan of the Eagle and Nan of the Bell_

_Pretty Jane of the Man Drest in Green_

_But of all the fair creatures that others excel._

_Give me the sweet widow,_

_The nice little widow_

_My neat pretty widow who keeps the Cock Inn."_

 

Steve was listening with a faint smile on his face as Hawkeye belted out the song. "I swear, it gets dirtier with each verse," he said when Hawkeye stopped singing.

Hawkeye waggled his eyebrows. "That's the _point_."

"If you're done?" Bucky passed Steve a cup of coffee. Hawkeye had woken him in the middle of the night by bursting into song and he took the coffee with a grateful smile. 

"For the moment," Hawkeye said, looking faintly apologetic.

"What can you tell us about the curse?" Bucky asked.

"Not much." Hawkeye scratched the back of his neck. "When the ring gets passed to a new owner I go with it and only they can see or hear me. Usually," he added with a nod at Bucky. "I have to sing at them or the pain gets too bad."

"It hurts if you don't sing?" Steve asked.

Hawkeye grimaced. "It starts off small, but it gets worse the longer I go, like fire under my skin. Which is impressive when I don't have skin anymore. That way I can't just decide to stop. Or I can, but..."

"But you'll pay for it," Steve said.

Hawkeye nodded.

"Bucky? What do you think?"

Bucky studied Hawkeye, trying to see past the _evil_ surrounding him. Whoever the sea witch had been, she'd been skilled. It reminded him of the chains that had bound him when he'd belonged to HYDRA. Not the magic itself, but the coating of evil like slime. He didn't know how to break it. No. That wasn't precisely true. He'd studied it enough now, he _could_ break it; he just couldn't do it in a way that wouldn't take Hawkeye with it. That wasn't acceptable to Steve. "Was the sea witch human?"

"As far as I know."

Bucky turned his attention back to the curse looped around and around Hawkeye. "I still don't know how to break the curse without destroying you. But there's a solution." Steve looked at him hopefully. "Give the ring to me," he told Steve. "I don't need to sleep. He can sing all he wants, it won't affect me." A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "You did buy it for me in the first place."

Steve's answering smile was soft. "I did. Are you sure, Bucky?"

"Better than you being haunted."

Hawkeye looked doubtful. "I don't think it's going to work."

"Why not?" Steve asked.

Hawkeye opened his mouth as if to answer and a burst of song escaped:

 

_"One smile of consent, how 'twould lessen the smart,_

_From the active young widow,_

_The spruce little widow,_

_The little widow that keeps the Cock Inn."_

 

They waited for him to finish and when he didn't say anything else, just grimaced and shook his head, Steve went and fetched the ring, still in its box. He looked down at it, then held the box out to Bucky. "For you. It wasn't supposed to come with a singing ghost pirate."

Bucky lifted the box off Steve's palm, letting his fingers linger, enjoying Steve's slight shiver in reaction.

"I can still see him," Steve said after a minute. "Maybe put it on?"

Bucky handed the box back to Steve, who lifted the ring out and carefully slipped it over Bucky's finger. "This was supposed to be a bit more special than trying to stop a haunting," he murmured.

"If it works, that's going to be special enough." Bucky's attention was momentarily caught by the ring on his finger, by its weight. It should have been meaningless, a lump of metal and stone; if anything, it should have reminded him of the arm he'd been bound with. Instead, it was oddly pleasing, knowing Steve had given it to him. Had seen it and thought of him, had chosen it for him. Had placed it on his finger.

Or it would have been, if it hadn't been haunted. "Can you still see him?"

Steve turned. "Yes."

"I told you," Hawkeye said.

"And hear him." Steve turned back, met Bucky's eyes. "The magic's smart," he said, repeating Bucky's words from their beginning back to him. "You can't fool it like that."

Bucky smiled faintly and pulled Steve close, resting his chin on Steve's hair. "Looks like it is."

"Getting the feeling I'm missing something here," Hawkeye said.

Steve pressed closer to Bucky, leaned up to kiss him, one hand trailing down Bucky's back. "It's something Bucky said to me once," he said. "Don't worry about it."

"It's right, though. The sea witch was smart." Hawkeye was staring into the distance. "She cursed me to haunt the ring and vex the owner, so you need to be someone I _can_ vex to take ownership of the ring." He refocused on Steve. "You're stuck with me until you pass the ring to another _human_."

Steve's chin came up, his eyes narrowed, and he looked over his shoulder to meet Hawkeye's gaze. "I won't do that to someone else."

Hawkeye's smile was a masterwork in cynicism. "Of course you won't."

Bucky stepped in before Steve could reply. "So we'll need to find a way to break the curse."

"Without destroying him," Steve said.

"Without destroying him. Which I don't know how to do, but there may be someone I can ask." He held his finger out to Steve, who pulled the ring off and put it back in the box, then handed it to Bucky. Bucky slipped it into his pocket. "Stay here," he said to Hawkeye and turned to Steve. "Come with me?"

Steve followed him into their bedroom.

"Will you be all right if I'm gone for a couple of days?" He didn't want to leave Steve, but he needed Steve to be free of Hawkeye, needed Hawkeye to be gone to wherever human ghosts went. And a very small part of him, remembering what it was to be trapped and bound, wanted to free Hawkeye for his own sake, a creeping hint of pity growing the longer the ghost was with them.

"Bucky." Steve pressed his palm against Bucky's cheek, leaned up to kiss him softly. "I'll be fine." Bucky wrapped his hand around the back of Steve's neck, returning the kiss just as softly, sucking in a breath as Steve slid his hands under his shirt, as he nipped at Bucky's bottom lip. He deepened the kiss as Steve's mouth opened under his and he might have delayed leaving, might have pressed Steve down onto the bed and showed him how _much_ he needed him, if the off-key voice hadn't rung out:

 

_"But of all the fair creatures that others excel._

_Give me the sweet widow,_

_The nice little widow_

_My neat pretty widow who keeps the Cock Inn."_

  
Instead he sighed and rested his forehead against Steve's. "I love you," Steve said, sounding amused and annoyed all at once.

"I'll be back as soon as I can." Bucky gave him one last kiss and disappeared.

 

* * *

 

"No, no, it's _Nance_ at the Old Woman. Letty's at the Old Load of Hay. You mixed them up again."

"Who named all these bars?" Steve asked and Hawkeye frowned at him. "Okay, okay, I've got it." Steve was more than a little drunk—Hawkeye having declared that _singing_ like a pirate required _drinking_ like a pirate—and slumped bonelessly on the couch. Hawkeye was half-hovering partially through the over-stuffed chair. Steve cleared his throat and sang:

 

" _There's Nance at the Old Woman clothed in Gray_

_I look back on her I vow_

_Even Letty who graces the Old Load of Hay_

_I don't care a straw for her now."_

 

Steve paused. "Poor Letty."

"Come on, sing!"

Steve resumed singing and Hawkeye joined in, the two of them belting out the rest of the verse with little regard for the tune but with a great deal of enthusiasm:

 

_"There's another decanter'd just now in my heart_

_I for none of the rest care a pin._

_Oh, that Cupid the rogue, would but let fly his dart,_

_At the plump little widow,_

_The gay little widow,_

_The spirited widow that keeps the Cock Inn."_

  
Bucky arrived home just as they sang the last line, appearing with a swirl of gold in the middle of the living room.

"Bucky!" There were shadows under Steve's eyes, but his smile was wide and blinding. "Hawkeye's teaching me the Cock Inn song."

"I can see that. Sadly, I also heard it." Steve stuck out his tongue and Bucky grinned.

"He can't hold his liquor," Hawkeye said. "But he's a really happy drunk."

"Most of the time." Bucky shook his head. "I think I'll take him to bed, if that's okay with you?" It wasn't really a question, but Hawkeye waved an insubstantial hand in the air in response.

"Sure, sure. He's starting to mix the verses up anyway."

Bucky scooped Steve up, gold sliding along his skin as he used magic to carry his weight and balance him, something he couldn't do with one arm alone, something Steve probably wouldn't so readily let him do if he was completely sober. Steve wrapped his legs around Bucky's waist, his arms around Bucky's neck. "I love you," he said, nuzzling his nose against Bucky's cheek.

"I know," Bucky said, smiling softly. "I love you, too." He glanced down to find Hawkeye watching them.

"I'll stay as quiet as I can. I've sung so much tonight, it shouldn't be too hard."

"Thank you." He carried Steve to their bedroom, Steve kissing down the line of his neck as his hands slid under Bucky's shirt, glad for the chance to finish what they'd started before he'd left.

 

* * *

 

It was two in the morning, their room was dark and silent, when Hawkeye's singing shattered the quiet and jolted Steve awake. He winced, head pounding to let him know that drinking with a ghost pirate was not the best idea he'd ever had, but it only lasted a second. Bucky pressed a hand against his skin and warmth flowed through him as his magic washed away every trace of a hangover. "Thanks, Bucky," he said, pitching his voice to be heard over Hawkeye.

Bucky answered him with a kiss on the temple, resting there, lips against Steve's skin. "Has he woken you up every night?" he asked.

Steve sighed. "He doesn't want to. He holds off as long as he can." The gold of Bucky's eyes was just bright enough Steve could see his face. "You didn't find a way to break his curse, did you?"

"No," Bucky said against Steve's skin. "His curse is wound through him. Think of it like a glass ball filled with magic. I could shatter it and let the magic out easily enough, but Hawkeye wouldn't survive. He'd shatter along with it. All the power in the world, all my power, wouldn't stop it from happening. I'll keep looking, but we're going to have to figure something out to keep it under control."

Steve pulled away to look carefully at Bucky. "I thought you'd be mad at him."

Bucky gently ran his thumb across the top of Steve's cheek. "I can see the shadows under your eyes, I can tell how tired you are, but I know it's not his fault." Bucky kissed his temple again and pulled Steve closer.

"Thanks for trying." He snuggled into Bucky's arm, tucking his head under Bucky's chin. They lay there, listening to Hawkeye, his voice low and harsh as he sang.

 

_"Grenades, fire, and bullets were soon heard and felt,_

_A fight that the heart of Bellona would melt,_

_The rigging all torn, the decks filled with blood,_

_And scores of dead bodies were thrown in the flood;-_

_The flood, from the time of old Noah and Seth,_

_Ne'er bore the fellow of brave Captain Death."_

 

"He's not as cheerful in the middle of the night, is he?"

"No." Steve rested his head over Bucky's heart. "It's hard to blame him."

Bucky didn't reply, just ran his hand in long slow strokes down Steve's back.

 

* * *

 

It was, Steve was discovering, almost impossible to concentrate when a ghost pirate was randomly and loudly bursting into song. Steve was trying to work—he had commissions he had to get finished—but it wasn't going well.

When Hawkeye wasn't distracted, it was harder for him _not_ to sing. When Steve was working, he couldn't distract him. Bucky did his best, but it wasn’t very effective. Steve wasn't surprised. Under normal circumstances—normal for a cursed ring and a ghost pirate—no one else would even be able to hear Hawkeye, would even know he was there. So it made sense that the one who owned the ring was the one who had to distract him.

 

_"When last in her little bar parlour I sat_

_I joked her about her lone state_

_A brood of young chicken's dear widow mind that_

_Would be better around your prate."_

 

"Hawkeye, please stop." It wasn't fair, he knew, it wasn't Hawkeye's fault. Fair or not, Steve had to get these done and it wasn't going to happen as long as Hawkeye kept singing. There was something about it that reached right down into Steve's brain and dragged at his attention the moment he tried to focus on something else, like fingernails scraping down a blackboard.

He grimaced. "I'm sorry, Steve. I tried."

"What about soundproofing? We could install something to block your voice."

"People have tried. It doesn’t work. The curse carries my voice right through it."

Bucky stepped forward. "Magic soundproofing. I can't break your curse without breaking you, but I'm still stronger than it. Steve, I'm going to put you in a bubble. You won't be able to hear _anything_ , but you'll be able to work. Okay?"

"Please." Bucky caught his chin, kissed him once, and lifted his hand, swirling it through the air. Gold spun itself around Steve, around his desk, shaping itself into a rough circle, and Bucky's eyes glowed, waking an answering glow from the circle, which flared into bright light, then dimmed. Steve lifted his head. He could see Bucky's lips moving, could see Hawkeye's lips moving, but he couldn't hear _anything_. No noise was coming from outside and he breathed a sigh of relief. _Thank you_ , he mouthed and lost himself in his work.

He glanced up what had to be hours later, not sure exactly how much time had passed, to see Hawkeye, arms wrapped around himself, lips moving, head down. He looked like he was in pain. Bucky was nowhere to be seen. Steve just about ran out of the bubble and slid to a stop in front of Hawkeye. "Hawkeye?"

"That's Dread Pirate Hawkeye to you." His voice was strained as he tried for humour and missed by a mile.

"What's going on?"

He grimaced. "Turns out the curse doesn’t like it if you can't hear me. It's treating it the same as if I'm not singing at all."

"Why didn't you tell Bucky?"

"You needed to work."

"Idiot," Steve muttered. "Sing. Sing right now."

Hawkeye didn't hesitate, started singing:

 

_"Says she, pray don't reckon fore they are hatch'd,_

_Say I, where's the harm or the sin?_

_You can manage a second, we're very well matche'd_

_You dear little widow,_

_You charming young widow,_

_You're a nice little widow to keep the Cock Inn."_

 

Steve stared. "That's not really how the last line goes."

"My hand to God."

"Unbelievable." Hawkeye chuckled, already starting to look better. Steve wanted to reach out and clasp his shoulder, but he knew he couldn't; his hand would go right through. "So that doesn't work."

"You got your art done."

Steve glared at him. " _That doesn’t work_ ," he repeated and Hawkeye held up his hands.

"All right. Not arguing with you. That doesn't work."

 

* * *

 

Time passed, weeks inevitably turning into a month turning into more. The strain began to take its toll on Steve, as if the moment he found a point of equilibrium, struck a balance between Hawkeye's need to sing and his need to sleep, to focus, to function as a human who wasn't constantly under siege from a ghost pirate's song, the curse would push Hawkeye and destroy their fragile peace.

"Is the curse designed to get worse?" Bucky asked Hawkeye, voice low so Steve couldn't hear. "To make you sing more the longer someone has you?"

Hawkeye shook his head. They were watching Steve move around the kitchen, obviously tired even with everything Bucky could do. "I don't know. No one's ever held onto the ring this long. It's possible. It's the sort of thing she would have done."

Bucky's eyes flared gold as he fought down a surge of anger at the long dead sea witch who'd done this to Steve. Hawkeye looked away. After a minute, never looking at Bucky, he said, "If it gets too bad. Destroy it. Destroy the ring."

Shocked, Bucky stared at him.

Hawkeye glanced back and his pale eyes were deep and sad. "I don't want you to. I don't know what's waiting for me in the afterlife, but I know I'd like to find out. That doesn’t happen if you destroy me. But I don't want to sit here and watch him go mad or drive himself into the ground because of me."

"Hawkeye." Bucky's voice was soft.

"If you have to, do it."

"Do what?" Steve asked, coming over to lean against Bucky's chest.

"Teach you the next verse of Cock Inn," Hawkeye replied.

Steve perked up and Bucky groaned, covering his face with his hand. "Do you have to?" Bucky asked. Steve and Hawkeye both grinned at him and he sighed. "Go on. Get it over with."

Hawkeye struck a dramatic pose and sang:

 

_"Then here's to the dear little charmer I prize,_

_In a bumper now filled to the brim,_

_For who could resist such a pair of black eyes,_

_As in rich liquid moisture they swim,_

_Away, then away, with my bachelor's vow_

_My hand then is hers, with the ring,_

_For if she be willing to take me in tow,_

_I'll marry the widow,_

_The dear little widow,_

_I'll marry the widow and keep the Cock Inn."_

 

"Hey, it's got a happy ending," Steve said in surprise, then added, smirking, "A dirty happy ending, but still."

"Why do you think it was so popular?" Hawkeye asked, smirking back, and Steve laughed.

"I should've known," Steve said. "Okay, now teach it to me."

Bucky drew Steve close and kissed his temple. "I'll leave you to it."

He met Hawkeye's eyes briefly over the top of Steve's head and nodded. He _wouldn't_ destroy the ring, not behind Steve's back, not without Steve's agreement or at least his understanding, not unless things became far worse. Steve…he wasn't sure Steve would ever forgive him if he did. But what Hawkeye had just offered was a sacrifice beyond anything Bucky had ever expected of him. Hawkeye nodded back. "Call if you need me," he added softly to Steve before he disappeared. 

 

* * *

 

There was no doubt that it was getting worse. The curse was driving Hawkeye to sing more and more even as he tried to control it. Late one night, Steve deeply asleep beside him for the first time in days, Bucky heard a single line of off-key singing. He tensed, ready to shield Steve with a sound proof bubble and damn the consequences if that was what it took to keep him asleep, when it was cut off by a strangled gasp. He slipped out of bed and walked into the living room.

Hawkeye was sitting in the corner, arms wrapped around himself, obviously in agony, obviously resisting the lash of the curse, holding it in so Steve could sleep.

Bucky sat in front of him. He couldn't touch him, he couldn't help him, and he realised he wanted to. Hawkeye was suffering to protect Steve. But there was nothing, even with all his power and all his magic, he could do. The curse was a closed loop, one that couldn't be broken without destroying Hawkeye.

Except maybe there _was_ something. "Would it be easier if I talked to you?"

Hawkeye nodded.

Bucky looked down, thinking. "Would you like to hear how I met Steve?"

Hawkeye nodded again.

"When Steve found me I was kind of like you, only bound to a bottle and enslaved to a metal arm. It's why I only have one now." He told the story: of Steve finding him and, in his own unique way, of setting him free, long before he'd ever lost the arm or the bottle. Of how he'd freed himself from the arm and HYDRA's control—but he never said HYDRA's name. Eyes wide, Hawkeye stared in disbelief at Bucky's empty shoulder and Bucky nodded. "Yes, I really did. It was the only way to save him." He fell briefly silent after that, then added, "It was worth it, he was worth it. He's worth everything," and Hawkeye smiled.

He heard the bedroom door open. A few moments later Steve dropped to sit next to him. Sleepy, his hair tousled, he slumped into Bucky's side. "Sing, Hawkeye. Sing."

Hawkeye's voice was harsh and low as he obeyed:

 

_"But at length the dread bullet came winged with fate,_

_One brave Captain dropt, and soon after his mate;_

_Each officer fell, and a carnage was seen,_

_That soon dyed the waves to crimson from green,_

_Then Neptune arose and pulled off his wreath,_

_Instructing a Triton to crown Captain Death."_

 

The pain slipped off Hawkeye's face as he sang and his arms loosened from around himself. Steve was looking at him seriously. "Never let it get this bad again. Okay?"

Bucky watched Hawkeye carefully. He nodded, but there was something in his eyes... Bucky thought the nod was a lie.

Steve leaned into him, his head on Bucky's shoulder as Hawkeye kept singing. They stayed there, the three of them, as the sun rose, Steve yawning around the coffee Bucky handed him. Every time Hawkeye fell silent, Steve would quietly tell him to sing.

 

* * *

 

Steve rested his forehead on the bedside table and closed his eyes. Bucky stroked his hair, curled his fingers and ran them down Steve's cheek. "This can't go on forever."

"It doesn't have to," Steve replied, a thread of stubbornness weaving through the exhaustion in his voice. "Just until you find a way to get him free of the curse." He opened his eyes and lifted his head. "I know you can do it, Bucky."

"Steve." Bucky's eyes were very gold. "What if I can't?"

"You will." Bucky was silent. "We're coping. That's his soul, Bucky. That's _him_. We'll _keep_ coping."

Bucky pulled him close, kissed his forehead, and Steve felt magic flow through him, washing away his headache and his fatigue, leaving warmth in its wake. "I never thought you'd say anything else." He burrowed into Bucky, closing his eyes as Hawkeye's voice rolled over them both.

 

_"Twelve months are gone and over_

_And nine long tedious days_

_Why didst though, vent'rous lover,_

_Why didst though trust the seas?_

_Cease, cease, though cruel ocean,_

_And let my lover rest:_

_Ah! What's thy troubled motion_

_To that within my breast?"_

 

Even with the sound of Hawkeye's singing trying to drag him back to full wakefulness, Steve managed to drift into fitful not-quite-sleep, curled into Bucky's arm. 

Later, when they walked into the living room, Hawkeye was standing in the corner, looking miserable. "You've got to get rid of me. This can't go on," he said to Steve, then turned his attention to Bucky. "You have to do it."

"Do what?" Steve looked between them.

Bucky flattened his palm, warm and strong, between Steve's shoulder blades and said, "He wants me to destroy the ring."

"Destroy it," Hawkeye shifted his gaze back to Steve, "or give it to someone else."

"No." Steve fixed Hawkeye with a stubborn look. "I'm not getting rid of you and I'm not letting you get destroyed. You and me, we're working it out. We'll be okay."

"We're not working it out. You're exhausted, he's," Hawkeye pointed at Bucky, "the only thing keeping you on your feet. This is supposed to be my curse, not yours. You're supposed to hand me off to someone else after a few days, not keep me around." Hawkeye clenched his insubstantial fists and his eyes flashed. "You never asked for this."  

"Maybe I never asked for this but neither did you. Hawkeye, what she did to you was _wrong_." Steve's voice softened. "You're staying with us until we figure out how to set you free."

Steve's words dropped into the sudden silence like a rock into a deep well. A quiet wind, smelling of salt and the sea, spiralled from nowhere, carrying the creak of canvas and the distant cry of seabirds. It whistled through the apartment and blew through Hawkeye. His eyes widened in shock. "Steve..."

"Hawkeye?"

Hawkeye began to glow, bright and warm, too bright, but Steve couldn't look away. "Steve. Steve, that's—" His voice cracked as a tear rolled down his face.

Steve lunged forward, trying to grab hold of him, but he couldn't, he'd never been able to. Hawkeye was insubstantial as mist and he was fading into the light. "Hawkeye. Hawkeye! What's happening? What, Bucky, do something!" Bucky's hand curved around the back of his neck, but he was just _standing there_. Wasn't raising magic. Wasn't doing anything to stop this.

" _The curse will be broken when someone cares more about you than how thrice-damned irritating you are, you and your singing like cats in heat_." His voice was going thready, faint. "She thought I'd be cursed forever, twenty years added for every time someone got rid of me. Steve. You broke the curse." He was barely there, only the faintest outline left. "Thank you."

"Hawkeye?"

"This is goodbye. Don't forget about the widow who keeps the Cock Inn. You're the only one who remembers her now."

"I won't. And we'll remember you." The only thing left of him was a pale wisp, vaguely shaped like a man, and then there was nothing. "Hawkeye?"

"He's gone, Steve." Bucky slid his arm around Steve's chest, pulling him back against his body.

His eyes were filling and he blinked rapidly, because it should be good. The curse was broken, it was a _good_ thing, but he turned and pressed his face into Bucky's shoulder.

"Ah, Steve," Bucky said softly, holding him tightly. "It's okay."

"I don't know why I'm sad. It's good, the curse is broken, I shouldn't be sad."

"He was your friend." Bucky ran his fingers through Steve's hair. "It's okay to be sad that he's gone."

Steve clung to Bucky, held onto him until the prickling behind his eyes, the tightness in his throat, started to fade, then he rubbed his eyes on his sleeve and said, "At least I've got a song to remember him by."

Bucky's shoulders slumped and he sighed dramatically. "Yes, I'm so glad he taught you that." Steve smiled, small at first, then started to laugh quietly while Bucky's eyes glinted, golden and warm.

 

* * *

 

They couldn't find any records of where a pirate named Hawkeye had operated, so they took the ring, in lieu of a body, to a tiny island in the Pacific, one where people rarely went. They had an audience of birds, who seemed to have no fear of humans, and a view of white sand and the perfect flat blue sea. 

Bucky used magic to make a deep hole and dropped the ring in. With the curse broken it was just an antique ring made of silver threads twisted around a golden stone. Steve planted a plain wooden plaque that simply said _The Dread Pirate Hawkeye_ over the not-quite-a-grave. Once it was set in place, Bucky looked at Steve questioningly. "Usually people say a few words about the deceased," Steve explained. "I figure the same rules apply when you're doing it for a ghost. Do you want to go first?"

After a moment, Bucky nodded. "Hawkeye was a terrible singer and very human, even though he was dead when we met him, but," he paused, looking at Steve and his eyes were gleaming gold, "he was brave. He cared about you more than he cared about himself. I would have kept trying to find a way to free him from his curse if you hadn't done it first. It would have," he stopped and held out his hand to Steve, who threaded his fingers through Bucky's, "hurt if I'd had to destroy the ring."

Steve tucked himself against Bucky's side. "I wasn't expecting to bring home a ghost when I bought a ring. I wasn't expecting him to wind up being my friend. It was hard having him around, but that wasn't his fault. He didn't ask to be cursed and I hope the sea witch is rotting in hell for what she did to him. Hawkeye, I hope you're wherever pirates that aren't actually all that dread end up, and I hope you're happy. Thank you for trying your hardest to fight the curse." He glanced sideways at Bucky and gave a tiny smirk. "And thank you for teaching me a new song." Bucky groaned. "If only because of how Bucky reacts whenever I mention it."

Steve sang several verses of the Widow that Keeps the Cock Inn, loudly and with great enthusiasm, Bucky reluctantly joining in on the bits he knew. Afterwards, Bucky erected a barrier over the not-quite-a grave, one that would last for hundreds of years, protecting the spot from magic. They both thought Hawkeye would appreciate the gesture.

Before they returned to San Francisco, Bucky extracted a promise from Steve that before he bought any more rings he'd show them to Bucky _first_.

"Wait," Steve said, leaning back, his arms wrapped around Bucky, ready to be carried through the dark and the cold. "Does this mean you want me to buy you another ring?"

Bucky stared up at the sky, avoiding Steve's eyes.

Steve caught Bucky's chin in one hand and pulled his head down. "Bucky."

"It was a beautiful ring, if you ignore that it was haunted. I," he hesitated, "I like the idea of having something like that from you. It's very human, but you're human and I—" He stopped, looking strangely vulnerable.

Steve smiled gently. "I'll buy you a ring," he leaned up to kiss him, "something you can wear, something you can look at when we're not together and know I gave it to you."

The vulnerability faded and he looked pleased, eyes gleaming gold. "After I make sure it's not haunted. Or cursed. Or magic."

"After that," Steve agreed with a lopsided smile. "Let's go home."

Bucky closed his arm around Steve and carried them both into the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and I hope you have a spooktacular Halloween!


	2. The Ballads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All ballads taken from _The Common Muse_ edited by V deSola Pinto and AE Rodway, published by Penguin Books 1965

**The Widow Who Keeps the Cock Inn**

 

A traveller for many long years I have been,

But I never went over to France -

Most cities and all market towns I've been in,

From Berwick on Tweed to Penzance,

Many hotels and taverns I've been in in my time,

And many fair landladys seen -

But of all the fair charmers who other outshines

Give me the sweet widow -

The dear little widow,

I mean the sweet widow that keeps the Cock Inn.

 

Her lips are as roses as e'en is her wine,

And like all her liquors, she's neat

She's full of good spirits, that's really devine

And while serving her bitters, looks sweet.

Excuse these outpourings, they spring from the heart,

You may laugh – so shall I, if I win,

One smile of consent, how 'twould lessen the smart,

From the active young widow,

The spruce little widow,

The little widow that keeps the Cock Inn.

 

There's Bet at the Blossom and Poll of the Crown,

Fat Dolly who owns the red heart,

There's Kate of the Garter and Star, of renown

And Peggy who keeps the Skylark,

Spruce Fan of the Eagle and Nan of the Bell

Pretty Jane of the Man Drest in Green

But of all the fair creatures that others excel.

Give me the sweet widow,

The nice little widow

My neat pretty widow who keeps the Cock Inn.

 

There's Nance at the Old Woman clothed in Gray

I look back on her I vow

Even Letty who graces the Old Load of Hay

I don't care a straw for her now."

There's another decanter'd just now in my heart

I for none of the rest care a pin.

Oh, that Cupid the rogue, would but let fly his dart,

At the plump little widow,

The gay little widow,

The spirited widow that keeps the Cock Inn.

 

When last in her little bar parlour I sat

I joked her about her lone state

A brood of young chicken's dear widow mind that

Would be better around your prate."

"Says she, pray don't reckon fore they are hatch'd,

Say I, where's the harm or the sin?

You can manage a second, we're very well matche'd

You dear little widow,

You charming young widow,

You're a nice little widow to keep the Cock Inn.

 

Then here's to the dear little charmer I prize,

In a bumper now filled to the brim,

For who could resist such a pair of black eyes,

As in rich liquid moisture they swim,

Away, then away, with my bachelor's vow

My hand then is hers, with the ring,

For if she be willing to take me in tow,

I'll marry the widow,

The dear little widow,

I'll marry the widow and keep the Cock Inn.

 

**Captain Death**

 

The muse with the hero's brave deeds being fired,-

For similar views had their bosoms inspired;-

For freedom they fought and for glory contend

The muse o'er the hero still mourns as a friend;

Then oh! let the muse this poor tribute bequeath

To a true British hero, the brave Captain Death.

 

His ship was the Terrible, dreadful to see,

Each man was as gallantly brave as was he;

Two hundred and more were his good complement,

But sure braver fellows to sea never went:

Each man had determined to spend his last breath

In fighting for Britain and brave Captain Death

 

A prize they had taken diminished their force,

But soon this good prize was lost on her course;

When the French man-of-war and the Terrible met,

A battle began with all horror beset,

No man was dismayed, -each as bold as Macbeth;-

In fighting for Britain and brave Captain Death

 

Grenades, fire, and bullets were soon heard and felt,

A fight that the heart of Bellona would melt,

The rigging all torn, the decks filled with blood,

And scores of dead bodies were thrown in the flood;-

The flood, from the time of old Noah and Seth,

Ne'er bore the fellow of brave Captain Death.

 

"But at length the dread bullet came winged with fate,

One brave Captain dropt, and soon after his mate;

Each officer fell, and a carnage was seen,

That soon dyed the waves to crimson from green,

Then Neptune arose and pulled off his wreath,

Instructing a Triton to crown Captain Death.

 

Thus fell the strong Terrible, dreadfully bold,

But sixteen survivors the tale could unfold.

The French proved the victors, though much to their cost,

For many stout French were with Englishmen lost.

And thus said old Time, 'since good Queen Lizabeth

We ne'er saw the fellow of bold Captain Death'.

 

**A Ballad**

 

T'was when the seas were roaring

With hollow blasts of wind;

A damsel lay deploring,

All on a rock reclin'd.

Wind o'er the rolling billows

She cast a wistful look;

Her head was crown'd with willows

That tremble o'er the brook.

 

Twelve months are gone and over

And nine long tedious days

Why didst though, vent'rous lover,

Why didst though trust the seas?

Cease, cease, though cruel ocean,

And let my lover rest:

Ah! What's thy troubled motion

To that within my breast?

 

The merchant, rob'd of pleasure,

Sees tempests in despair;

But what's the loss of treasure

To losing of my dear?

Should you some coast be laid on

Where gold and di'monds grown,

You'd find a richer maiden

But none that loves you so.

 

How can they say that nature

Has nothing made in vain;

Why then beneath the water

Should hideous rocks remain?

No eyes the rocks discover,

That lurk beneath the deep,

To wreck the wand'ring lover,

And leave the maid to weep

 

All melancholy lying,

Thus wail'd she for her dear;

Repay'd each blast with sighing,

Each billow with a tear;

When o'er the white wave sighing,

His floating corpse she spy'd;

Then like a lily drooping,

She bow'd her head, and dy'd.

 


End file.
